Of Fairies, Lanterns and Apologies
by Wolfbiyo
Summary: As usual, Alfred comes to visit his dear brother Arthur. But what if Francis decides to pop up as well? Contains FranxUK, a little bit of drabble concerning Arthur's height and all the nonsense tipical of Hetalia! xDD Rated T for the language/Yaoi


Hi, hi!

This is my first story on ! I'm so proud! ^^ Took me forever to write (due to laziness and an ill necessity of re-writing almost everything T~T ). It's also my first Hetalia fanfic, and the first One-shot I got to actually finish without turning it into a 300-chapter monster! xDD But it's still a bit too long, so... please be patient. x3 And now to the observations/warnings! Just for my safety. ^w^

**OBS:**

**1 -** THIS CONTAINS **YAOI**. In other words, BOYxBOY, BOY'S LOVE, or HOMOSSEXUAL GUYS. So please: don't like it? Don't read it, don't flame it. That's what the "Back" button is for.

**2 - DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia or any of the character depicted. I wish I did, though. T^T

**3 -** This story isn't trying, in NO WAY, to represent real countries/armed forces. I also don't want to offend any reader who belongs to the quoted nationalities, so please forgive me if I do, using my super-exagerated aspects of British/French/American accents, cultures and rivalries (if there's any)

**4 -** Speaking of which... I decided to use a super-fun-to-write England-kun!! w Since he's related to Scotland-sama, I thought it would be funny if he, in very tense moments, started speaking with (the cool)Scottish accent!! Weeeeeee! Kilts! =D

**5 -** Extra-näive Alfred ish the love, let's leave him innocent like that. ^^

Ok then, I think I already bored you enough with this wabble-drabble. So please go forward and enjoy the story! ^^

Oh, and R&R, please... *w*

* * *

**Of Fairies, Lanterns and Apologies**

Arthur deftly shook the droplets off his umbrella and closed it. For some sort of miracle, the rain that day wasn't followed by the usual lingering mist, and the now thin clouds had started to clear as soon as the water ceased dripping. Alfred was lucky, his brother thought, to get such a blue and freshened sky as a welcome for his arrival. Even if it was late spring, the good old London usually had that same mischievous cloud always g above Her head, just waiting to pour itself onto (and into) the hats and cloaks of the poor inhabitants. But this time, however, a nicer weather could be expected.

Indeed, soon the warm sunrays broke through the clouds, shining brightly on a brand-new steel hull that slided softly on the waveless water. It called Arthur's attention, and a more careful look revealed that the vessel was sure to be American. Of course. A huge flag was proudly showing the well-known stripes and stars. But all that detective work wasn't really necessary, for one of the passengers, as soon as the ship got within the port's ear range, started gesturing rather scandalously while calling – no, SCREAMING – Arthur's name. The said passenger was none other than his younger brother, Alfred.

'Here we go.' The English gentleman sighed. 'He hasn't changed a bit in all these years.' But he was proved seriously wrong when the super-thrilled blond American almost jumped off the deck, with a small suitcase in hand, rushing through the crowd to tackle-hug his long-missed brother. His hairstyle had changed a bit since the Independence War, as well as his clothing, which – Arthur noticed in disapproval – had become rather sloppy and extravagant. But, somehow, they kind of resembled the English style, as if – Arthur felt a little proud of it – Alfred didn't want to diverge completely from the Great Island. And also, a pair of glasses hung on the bridge of his nose as a proof of his new conquest: Texas.

But, more importantly, his body had grown. Arthur went completely dumb-founded when his mind processed the fact that yes, the strong pair of arms crushing his ribs DID belong to his "little" Al.

"Art, man, how ya' doin'? I've missed ya sooooooo much!!"

Arthur allowed himself to relax his usual frown and pat his brother's – now large - back, giving a tiny smile.

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine, Al. And how are you?"

"I'm doin' great! Ya can't imagine how the economy is booming, Art!"

"Good, good. That's wonderful." But he couldn't help but feel a small pinch of sadness at this… well, Independence. "So, what shall we do? Do you want to rest? Or have some REAL tea, perhaps?"

Alfred laughed.

"You and your tea, huh?"

But the tea won, in the end. As always. They had gone to sit at a lovely café in the proximities of Convent Garden, and were finishing the most perfect tea-break ever (because Alfred was behaving himself, for once), when the universe decided things should not be perfect.

"Ouch!" yelled Arthur, when an elbow hitting his back made him spill a fine Earl Grey all over the table.

"Oh, mon sincere apologies, I—Arthur?!"

"Francis??!! What are you doing here?!"

"Damn, I knew I should've gone up the other street-" mumbled him, more to himself than to anyone else, in fact.

"Pardon me?"

"Uh, I said it was NICE to meet you, _cherie_" Corrected the Frenchman, a sly smile on his face.

_Cherie_. How Arthur hated that word.

"Hi, Francis! How ar'ya?"

"Hello, little _monsieur_. I'm fine; what about yourrself?"

_Monsieur_? How did Alfred get hold of such a title (which, coming from Francis, was a showing of extremely high respect), while Arthur, the older brother, was know simply as "_cherie_'? Hmph. Never mind.

"So, what brings you herre, Alfrred? Paying your brother a visit?"

"Yup, I am! And what about you?"

At this point, to Arthur's disgust and Alfred's amusement, Francis smiled gallantly and, pulling his best Don Juan pose (where did the rose come from?), said – no, purred - : "Well, I have some… business with the ladies, _oui_?" and winkled.

"Aawwww…" stated Alfred. Arthur was speechless. "But I thought we could all go see the countryside, since ya're here… Ya know, Arthur's always braggin' 'bout those cool fairies he has in the woods!…I don't believe them, but it'd be AWESOME if I could get a picture or somethin'!!! Yeah!! Can we go there later, Art, please??"

"A-ah? Hum… Aren't you… tired, Al?"

"Nah, not a single bit!!"

Arthur sighed. "Ok. But please remember we only have one day, right? Your ship leaves in the evening."

"What? WHY?!!..." startled, the American leaned over the table, supporting himself with his hands. The china ware shaked dangerously.

"Wha- But it was YOU who bought the tickets, wasn't it? And weren't you just stopping by to go to Scandinavia or elsewhere?"

"Oh, yeah. Right."

"Git…"

"And you, Francis?" Alfred continued, standing up and grabbing said Francis' shoulders. "Will'ya come with us?? Please? Please, please, pleeeeease?" His eyes now sparkled childishly…and frighteningly. Something told Francis he would get in trouble unless he accepted, which he did right away.

"I-I guess the girrls can wait."

"YAAAY!!!" Alfred threw both arms up, vibrantly. "So let's go, then! Let's go!!"

_.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-._

"No. No way in friggin' hell I'll do this."

"But you said you would keep us company, _cherie_."

"Yeah, ya did!"

"Well, mee _good friend_ Francis, when ye said ye wanteed to show 'im the 'cool' places in town, that you were sure I'd never take him to, I didn't imagine it was THIS!"

"Oh, come on, Mrr. 'goody-two-shoes'. Have you neverr had fun in your life?"

"Well, ya, bu' this is the RED LANTERN DISTRICT, for the bloody sake of God! Al!! Don't ye know what this means?"

"'Course I do! Francis told me this is where they sell lanterns and other stuffs to attract the fairies at the forest, right?"

"Oui, I did."

Arthur glared. Fiercely. Loathingly. Francis' smirk made the whole prank pretty damn obvious! Why was Alfred no naïve??

"You know, _cherie_…" the Frenchman whispered to him. "If you're not going to teach him these things; have THE talk… Then someone else will."

"This is completely outrageous!! Ye bloody bastard!!" the angered brother shouted, taking Alfred by the hand and dragging him up the street. "Come on, Al, let's get out o' 'ere!"

"Huh? And the tour to the countryside?"

"We'll go now, whatever!"

"_Cherie_, wait!"

Arthur was so pissed off that he didn't even look back and continued pulling his brother along during his fierce walk to… to… he didn't care where to, as long as it was really far from that bewildered, obscene burden that called himself his "friend". Unbelievable how some people hadn't got a single drop of composure! And unbelievable how annoyingly stubborn they were! Francis insisted in chasing them all the way to Piccadilly, his voice being heard above the noise of the crowd of happy people who had nothing to worry about and were enjoying a wonderful stroll.

"Arthur! Arthur, wait!"

"It was just a joke!! _Oui_, and a very good one!"

"You're such a bad sport!"

But after sometime, nothing else came to Arthur's ears. The Frenchman had lost them!

"Hey, Al, sorry for dragging ye like this. But ye have to understand that THAT place isn't appropriate for someone yer age… or ANY age at all. I guess we can slow down now, and-… Al? Al?!

…

"Oh, bugger."

Arthur glanced in every direction, but Alfred was nowhere to be found. It was all Arthur's fault. In his blind rage, he hadn't realised that he let go of his brother's hand, leaving him – no, _abandoning_ him – in the middle of an extremely busy street, which he knew nothing about, and… and…

Oh, the guilt.

But, suddenly, he heard hurried footsteps behind him, accompanied by the sound of someone's panting. Could it be Al? Yes, maybe he managed to catch up with his inhumane relative! Arthur hopefully turned his head in the direction of the noise, to find the one and only…

"Francis?!"

"Ooof! Finally! _Mon dieu_, you're fast when it comes to flight." He paused for a moment, trying to catch his breath, hands resting on his knees. "But look… I suppose I own you an… an apology. I admit that I kind of crossed the line with the joke…_Oui_, abusing of Alfred's innocence… But I also admit that you overreacted, _cherie_, and…_Quoi_? Where's Alfred?"

During the whole of the Frenchman's speech, Arthur kept looking around, eyebrows curved at his anxiety, but now he looked angrily at the speaker and retorted: "It was very kind of you to notice that he disappeared! And I'm beginning to think you, too, have a big amount of fault in this! …oh, and by the way: no, I DON'T forgive you."

Francis stared deep in his eyes for some time, immersed in thoughts. "Then, could we call it even if I helped you find the little _monsieur_?" and he smiled playfully "I know you love to keep a scoreboard, just as in a game."

'What a weird way to put it' thought Arthur. But he agreed anyhow. "I wouldn't mind, or care; as long as we foun' mee brother!!"

_.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-._

"It can't be! We looked everrywhere, _Sacrebleu!_"

"No… There mus' be somewher' we forgot… There must be!"

"He's not at your house… not at Madame Tussaud's, not at Hyde Park, chasing dogs… What else would he want to do in London?"

In a second, that phrase made something snap in both men's minds, and they shouted together, facing eachother:

"THE COUNTRYSIDE!"

And Arthur started a crazy dash towards the nearest carriage renter… Eh? Just Arthur? Why was he alone; did something hold Francis back?

"WAIT!" cried the said Frenchman, fishing something out of his pocket in the most urgent manner.

"Whut? Whut's the matter?!"

"All this running around left me looking like a strraw bundle! Give me one second to look fabulous again, _oui_?

Oh, dear Lord. He was holding a comb. It was the last drop. The one that made Arthur's contained frustrations and disgusts explode all at once. All the way since the Hundred Years War until that very morning, all the things that Francis always said and did just to tease him.

"Bloody Hell, Francis!!! We dun' have time for tha', ye reekie git! We've to hurry up an' fynd the ol' chap at once!!'

"Wha- Find what? _Mon Dieu_!"

"Eh? Ye joking again? Dun' ye know Alfred coul' be in danger?"

"Oh! So you werre talking about Alfrred?"

The Brit gave a deep sigh before responding, irritated.

"Why so dense?"

"_Non_. I'm NOT dense, _cherie_, I just don't stand, or understand, that – at this point he faked his voice – 'awfully Brritish accent'!"

Arthur's hands quikly flew to Francis collar and dragged his head closer.

"Look 'ere, Mr. 'I'm-so-romantic-because-I-speak-French', if ye can't stand mee 'Brritish accent' tha' much, then why dun' ye get the hell out of our island, eh?!'

Now it was the said romantic's turn to furrow his brows, and he roughly made Arthur let go of him.

"You know, I think we finally agrree to something. I'm tired of all this tea, anyway. _Adieu_, and good luck finding your _dear_ brother, _cherie._

And he gallantly walked away.

"Off ye go, then." Whispered Arthur, even though the other was already out of earshot.

_.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-.__.-*-._

The two blond brothers strolling up the rural road as the sun started to set. The taller one was munching on a fairly big fairy cake.

"Not as good as burger, but… yeah, it's tasty!" he said. "That lady was very kind to gimme this!"

The other sighed. The slight difference in their heights was starting to get him peeved.

"Yes. VERY kynd, considering what ye did to the watermill in her farm."

Alfred pouted.

"But it was an accident! Yup, and she accepted my apologies."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but said nothing. They continued walking in silence, admiring the serene spring-time surroundings. The English countryside was truly lovely! But Alfred seemed not to agree, for he boredly yawned, complaining about how tired he was, and asked Arthur the time. As the Brit drew out a pocket watch, his eyes widened and he gasped.

"Huh?! What's wrong, Art?"

"What a fool I am! Hurry, Al, yer ship 'tis leaving soon!"

Arthur took his brother's arm and rushed towards the city. They quickly ran to Arthur's house to take Alfred's luggage, and in no time they were at the busy Newhaven Port. Soon after Alfred had clumsily gotten on board of his ship, a horn was sounded and the vessel began sliding swiftly on its way to the Northern Sea. The American, desperate as always, jumped up and down on the deck, waving furiously and shouting an (shamefully) accurately addressed farewell. So loud.

"ALWAYS loud." Thought the flushed Brit, as embarrassed as one could ever be, trying to pretend he didn't know Alfred and to hide his face as much as possible, without looking suspicious. Geez. When had his little brother become so tall and… visible? Every time he came to visit was the same: ten thousand things happening all at once, and then, poof! All disappeared, just like an angry typhoon. And Arthur was left, stunned, to try and find his bearings again.

He remained some time staring at the tiny shade of the ship against the darkening horizon. His gaze drifted up to meet a shining lone star, and he noticed how late it must have been. People had already started finding their way home. He decided to follow their example and headed back to his own home, which was almost on the outskirts of the town.

As he walked up the same road he had trailed with Alfred, he saw the shape of a man sitting on a fallen tree by the sideway. Arthur stopped for a moment. The man was quite familiar. Something in the way he ran his hand through the beautiful blond, shoulder-length locks reminded Art of…of…

"Oh, bugger! It's France. Again."

Wait a second, France? FRANCIS? Did he just think Francis' hair was beautiful? …well… it truly WAS well-cared, after all. But… Oh, never mind. Arthur had more important things to concern himself with, such as the pub he would run to and spent the whole night in. He would gladly have carried out the plan, if it weren't for the tiny detail that Francis had already seen him and waved lazily, which forced the Brit to actually go over there, for it would be against his honour to simply turn his back and run off.

"What are ye doing here, still? Didn't have enough of shaggin' our women?" he snarled, furrowing once again his well-provided eyebrows.

"It's good to see you too, _cherie_. And since you asked, the English ladies have been very… kind… to me."

Arthur's angry, knife-tossing glare shot up, directed to the Frenchman's throat, exactly.

"Nah, I'm just kidding" Francis sighed. "_Non_, in fact, I just got dumped."

Ha. That was the ultimate British vengeance. Arthur couldn't help but smile a little. However… the satisfied smirk was soon fading away from his lips. For Francis looked deeply sad this time. Which was a surprise, really, with all those women crashing in and out of his nearly promiscuous life. Arthur never expected his (almost, I say ALMOST) companion to evolve to the level of actually developing a bond with any of them. The Brit decided to solve the doubt for once and all.

"I see. Hum… I can tell from your face that you really liked her, eh?"

That short proof of sympathy seemed to restore part of the old cocky attitude.

"Heh, not that much, _non_. I figurred I cannot stand someone who doesn't love me."

Arthur just couldn't let this chance to provoke pass by.

"What about meeself, then? Ye know I hate ye, so why'd come here anyway?"

Francis decided not to answer. Instead, he just smirked and got up, stretching his limbs. Arthur gave a look of "Don't-go-just-ignoring-me", but didn't complain. He said:

"Well, since yer so depressed, why dun' we go to a pub or so? Drink our problems away, shall we?"

The other didn't reply. Arthur's guilt grew inside his chest.

"And the first pint's on me. Fer trying to strangle ye. I realised my accent can be a little…difficult… to understand. Sometimes. And especially for a foreigner. But it's not as ridiculous as yours, or course."

Francis blinked. Arthur jerked his head to the side, indifferent. Francis blinked again, eyebrows raised in a mute surprise. Arthur glanced at him sideways, before turning fully to the man in front of him.

"What?!"

"Did I hear correctly? You… _non_… You're not trying to apologise, are you?"

Arthur stiffened, indignant.

"What if I am? Is there a problem?"

Francis laughed and patted the Brit's shoulder, who just shoved the other's hand away, annoyed.

"My, my, _cherie_. If you've got to this point, the offence must have been serious, _non_?"

The said "_cherie_" growled.

"I MIGHT think about accepting your apology, _oui_… But _non_ at the prrice of a "paint" of – the Frenchman shivered at the words – WARM beer. _Non_.

"So what do ye want, then? A plate of fish'n'chips?"

"Non. Something betterr. Considering I also own you an apology…"

He stepped forward. Arthur gasped as he saw – and felt – Francis' hands gently moving to touch his cheeks. To cup them. With a more-than-confused look on his face, the Brit wanted to jump five feet backwards and ask what on bloody Earth was going on, but his stupid legs wouldn't obey him. Francis probably guessed this and, smirking cockily, held Arthur's face way too close to his own for a moment, kind of teasing him. Then he closed the distance between them and gently pressed their lips together. Arthur's eyes widened at first and he tried to twitch away of the other's grasp, but… Francis was kissing him so gently, and holding him so dearly, that his bloody arms dropped to his sides and refused to keep struggling.

It lasted for a few seconds, or rather, a few long-lasting seconds, before Francis parted. And then he leaned to plant a soft kiss on the tip of the Brit's nose.

"I think I can forgive you now, _cherie_." He whispered, smiling.

Arthur stepped back, deeply embarrassed. Damn. For some reason his heart was racing, and he was not able to speak. And he didn't want to figure out what reason was that. Suddenly, though, Francis' previous words came to his mind:

"_I figurred I cannot stand someone who doesn't love me."_

And he understood.

And he punched said Francis on the stomach. Lightly. But still a good ol' British punch.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Nothin'. Are we goin' to the pub or not? But I'm NOT paying ye anything." said Arthur, hurrying his way down the road.

Francis sighed half-heartedly and ran to catch up with the Brit, who was staring fixedly at the ground passing under his feet. The Frenchman smirked again.

"My, my, _cherie_. Did you know your face is of a lovely red?"

"…shut up."

* * *

_The End_


End file.
